


the music of the spheres

by freloux



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingerfucking, Making Love, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"do you think i care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?"<br/>(that doesn't mean that clara can't be taught a lesson first.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the music of the spheres

Their balance has shifted. He stands alone at the console. He won't let her in, won't let her touch. The interface is a shield. His face is obscured by blue glowing code. The only sound is faint beeps, whirrs, clicks as he absorbs himself in some mindless tiny project. He taps screens, works the telepathic circuits, and falls into his union with the TARDIS like nothing else matters. Sometimes, Clara thinks, nothing else really does.

"I thought you said you cared about me," Clara says, standing on the opposite side of the console.

"I do," the Doctor responds. Still not looking up.

"Then what about all _this_ ," Clara asks. She gestures to the "this": his general air of _leave me alone_.

He finally meets her gaze. "I'm not sure I can trust you again. That is, ah, intimately."

The last word comes out as a rush. The Doctor goes back to whatever it is he was doing, concealed by all of those expressive limbs alternately hunched and flailing over the TARDIS' console. He looks back down as he continues, "I want to make you wait."

Clara stares at him, confused. "What does that mean?"

He clears his throat. Hits a lever, frowns. "It means that your...gratification...would be a bit more delayed."

"Well, you did always say you weren't my boyfriend, so - " Clara laughs, tries to ignore how her palms have suddenly gone clammy.

She tells herself that this new dimension of their relationship is just another planet to explore.

He reads to her in the library. The weight of his voice, how it curves roughly around each word, makes her shiver. She leans against the banister and watches as he holds the book in his hands, strokes deliberately over its spine. Then he pauses, looks up, meets her gaze. "Tell me, Clara, what did it feel like when we were together?" Clara's walking over the tightrope now. He's started this, whatever it is. So she explains to him: how it's like coming home to something unfamiliar. The Doctor puts the book away, still watching her. Then he takes her hand, guides her forward, and turns her around until she's pressed flush against him. "How about this?" the Doctor asks. "What does this feel like?" He runs his hands under her shirt to cup both her breasts, then burrows into her bra. She whimpers at the smooth, slight drag of his fingertips as he rubs over her nipples in endless patterns, figure eights. He leaves one hand still at her left breast while the other explores into her underwear. Clara sighs and pushes back into him. She follows his touch as he finds her lips slick and responsive. He massages hard over her, harder than he usually does; it brings on that warm and pleasurable buzz much more quickly. Clara's breath quickens, her lower lip trembles, and yet she notices no change in the Doctor: he feels firm and immobile behind her.

Before she comes, he stops, pulls away, and turns back to the bookshelf. She reels, panting.

That's what this waiting is, she reasons: it's part of getting to know each other again. He takes her to the edge just before she breaks, every time. It drives her crazy, especially a few days later when he's got her with her legs over his shoulders and he's licking carefully, deliberately, making sure to build that little coil to just the sweet spot that makes her squirm. She's dripping into his mouth and wants more but is unable to get it. She breathes quickly and tries to control herself because she knows that if she goes harder, he'll pull back again. He tells her that she's got to be taught to wait, to have patience. Every time she seeks him out for more, asks if this time she can come, he merely clicks his tongue and withholds her pleasure for that much longer.

Eventually, Clara adjusts to this new rhythm, gets used to the steady pulsing between her legs. Sometimes it's so strong that it makes her whole body feel flooded with a warm rush of arousal. Other times it's only mildly distracting, like wondering if she left the lights on at home. Clara follows the Doctor on journey after journey, kept at heel and not entirely minding it.

But sometimes, like today, it's all consuming, and that's when it's particularly embarrassing because she knows he can tell. When he tells her they're going to Atlantis, there's only a slight smirk around his mouth as he stares her down and tells her to be careful. "You might get wet."

Clara bites her tongue and hides behind him as he walks carefully out of the TARDIS. Grateful merpeople float around him almost immediately, which makes Clara roll her eyes. It's at times like these that she feels a bit like she's traveling with a celebrity. The Doctor's name has echoed through all of time and space, for good or bad, and some adventures, like this one, are about picking up the pieces. There's scuba gear involved, then some mistranslated Atlantian, but eventually the day is saved, sis boom bah.

"D'you ever get tired of it?" Clara asks, changing out of her gear and back into normal clothes. Human clothes.

"What?" the Doctor responds.

"The adventuring."

"Not really," he says, like it's the most stupid question she's ever asked. (She's asked a lot of stupid questions.) "It's sort of my - what do you humans call it - my life mission? Goal? Whatever?"

Clara walks closer, comes behind him, loops her arms around his waist. "Do you ever get lonely?"

"I've had companions before you, Clara. And there will be companions after you."

Clara frowns. She doesn't like to think about that. What she wants to think about right now is the way he's gotten her so wound up over the course of these weeks and months. So she guides one of his hands between her legs so he can feel that for himself. He chuckles low, dark under his breath. "Humans get so desperate."

She looks up at him. "And Gallifreyans don't?"

"Not necessarily," the Doctor responds. Clara tucks that away for Sexy Reference, then gasps as he pushes two fingers inside her and runs his touch against the nervey ridge there. "Relationships aren't always about fucking like bunnies, you know."

He strokes against her just like he's done before: that considering way that suggests he's just going to leave her soaked like this again. "I want - " Clara whines, moving her hips as she seeks that pleasure. Breathe in, breathe out. "I want us to come together. I don't want the power dynamics anymore, as fun as that was. I miss you."

"So you learned your lesson?" the Doctor asks, surveying her.

"What? Don't cross the Doctor or he'll leave you in a state of orgasmic intensity for weeks on end?" Clara says. Her words hike into a moan. "Seems like a fun lesson to me."

So they take each other, make each other. He'll never get over what making love with Clara is like, how she looks when she's like this. Eyes open, completely wrecked, looking up at him like she's telling him a secret. Her nipples are tight against his chest: heartbeat to heartbeats. He's got one hand at her shoulder blades, the other at the small of her back. Her little cunt stretched around him is almost more than she can take. He slides slowly, too slowly, out of her and she whines. In response, he tells her to stroke him again, feel her wetness on him and how easy she makes it for him, before he pushes back inside her. He warns her just before he comes, but she just smiles, rocks her hips, follows him through it. Clara threads her fingers between his in a sudden, silent declaration of intimacy - an acknowledgement of her gratitude that they made it back to here.


End file.
